The City Slicker's Guide to Farm Survival
by Rhianwen
Summary: Most men in the grip of a midlife crisis would go out and buy a sports car or something. But lucky her, she married the man who decided to buck the trend, and bring home the deed to a farm. Drake and Wendy Anderson and their adventures in Mineral Town.


The City-Folk Guide to Farm Survival

* * *

Summary: Most men in the grip of a midlife crisis would go out and buy a fancy car, or gym equipment or something. But lucky her, she married the man who decided to buck the trend, and come home with the deed to a farm. The story of Drake and Wendy Anderson, and their adventures in Mineral Town.

* * *

Disclaimer: Harvest Moon and all of its characters are the creations and property of Marvelous Interactive. Read or Die and all of _its_ characters are the creations and property of Hideyuki Kurata and Akitaro Yamada. The author of this lame-ass little story is making no profit from the aforementioned, and not only because writing needs to be _good_ to earn any money.

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Notes: So, yes; this is a Harvest Moon/Read or Die crossover. It was really only a matter of time, as these two fandoms have consumed Rhianwen's spare time for the past eleventy billion years. Anyway, the intent was just to borrow two Read or Die characters to play the roles of the New Farmers in Town, and the goal was to make the story enjoyable and accessible for a Harvest Moon fan with absolutely no knowledge of Read or Die, since the plot and themes don't come into play whatsoever.

And now, oooooooooooooooooooooon with the show!

* * *

Chapter 1: If it Sounds Too Good to Be True...

* * *

Wendy had always had a curious habit of commenting aloud on whatever she was reading to whomever was about. It was something she had picked up at an early age from her father, whose tendency to announce little bits and pieces of news articles was the main reason that his wife, raised by exceedingly traditional parents to be a good housekeeper and mother rather than a concerned global citizen, knew the doings of men and nations at all.

Unfortunately, Wendy had never shared her father's taste for news. An avid reader of Harry Potter, various Austens and Brontes, and any science fiction novel she could get her little paws on, she generally ended up annoying, rather than informing those around her.

When, at the age of fourteen, she had found her first volume of florid erotica, those unlucky enough to be the audiences for her impromptu dramatic readings on the subject of throbbing this or velvety that found themselves both annoyed _and_ embarrassed, and occasionally just a little bit curious.

However, until she chanced to read aloud to her adored and adoring husband from a certain real estate website, she had no idea of the impact that her harmless little habit could have.

In the days to follow, she would spend a good deal of time alternately congratulating and kicking herself for the aforementioned harmless little habit, although she would eventually decide that both reactions were rather silly, because how on earth could she have known that Drake would react so _drastically_?

At any rate, whether for better or worse, on a certain late winter afternoon not so long ago, she had sealed both their fates when she had announced from her perch at the computer desk in the corner of the family room,

"Oh, look; someone's selling a farm."

It was difficult to say, in retrospect, if she still would have done it. If she had simply _known_ in advance that the farm in question held so much sentimental value for him, and possessed the ability to rekindle his lifelong dream to own and work a little piece of land someday, would she still have told him about it? Or would she have moved quickly onto that adorable little ski cabin and hoped for the same effect?

However, as this is not a story about what she _might _have done and the eventual results thereof, but instead about what she _did_, alternate scenarios were, and remain, irrelevant.

Therefore, while Drake-in-an-Alternate-Universe may have simply grunted absently over the ski cabin and gone to the fridge for some sodas while his wife continued to browse the internet for nice fixer-upper homes, Drake-in-the-Universe-in-Question bounded up from the floor and made beeline for the computer, intrigued.

"Oh, yeah? What's a farm going for these days?"

"A lot less than I would have thought," she replied absently, scrolling happily away, still utterly unaware that with every move she made, she was effectively sealing her own fate just a little bit more.

"No kidding," Drake said, eyes fixed to the screen.

Then, as his eyes lit on the photos, she felt him stiffen where his arm rested at her shoulder. She peeked up at him, and frowned at his expression.

"What's wrong?"

"That's Mr. Callaghan's farm," he replied after a long moment, commandeering the mouse.

Wendy turned this over in her mind for several seconds as the photos of the admittedly very pretty landscape flipped by in rapid succession.

"I see. And...who's Mr. Callaghan?"

"He was a friend of my father's. I spent a couple weeks at that farm every summer for about five years. Been years since the last time I saw him, though. I wonder why he's selling," he concluded, more to himself than to her.

Wendy hid a smile. Drake didn't speak often of his childhood, mostly because he saw little point in reminiscing. But ever since her mother-in-law had dragged out a stack of photo albums, all featuring an adorably serious, stocky, fair-haired little fellow in various stages of development, the subject had held no end of fascination for her. If this farm and its farmer were important to him, they were important to her too.

"Well, why not get in contact and ask him?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah, maybe I will."

* * *

Over the next few days, between the increased stress of working in an accounting firm during _busy season_ and the giddy delight of planning Maggie's upcoming weekend visit, Wendy forgot entirely about Mr. Callaghan and his farm.

Therefore, when she came home from a fairly routine trip to the grocery store to find Drake at the kitchen table, poring over a dizzying profusion of paperwork of a distinctly real-estate-esque nature, it seemed entirely out of the blue.

"W-what's all this?" she asked, surveying the mess in wide-eyed dismay.

Up from his chair in a second, he dropped a kiss at her cheek.

"Okay, don't get mad, but--"

"Ohhh, I hate conversations that start like that," she groaned.

"You remember that farm we were looking at on Sunday?"

A lightbulb began to flicker faintly in Wendy's mind.

"Yes..."

"Well, the reason the town's selling is that Mr. Callaghan died about two years ago."

Drake gave a startled grunt as any further explanation was cut off by two skinny, tanned arms wrapping tightly around him.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!"

"Thanks," he said with a forced smile, resting his cheek on her hair. It _shouldn't_ have been a shock - the guy'd been ancient when _he'd_ been twelve - but somehow, it hadn't even occurred to him that Mr. Callaghan wouldn't be there forever, getting up at five every morning to make sure his cows didn't go hungry.

Meanwhile, as Wendy's eyes lit once again on the paperwork spread out over the table, her sympathy began to wane slightly.

"So..._what's _all that about?"

A long pause.

"I kind of..."

"Yes?"

"Well, the real estate agent said that if someone doesn't buy the land to farm, they're going to give it over to this company that wants to build a resort."

"And you...?"

"Look, I bought the place, okay?" he grumbled. "I just have to sign these."

Wendy nodded very slowly.

"And what do you plan to do with it?"

"I don't know, I thought we could try to run it."

"Run it," she repeated flatly. "The farm."

He shrugged awkwardly.

"Well, yeah. It's not a huge farm, but it would probably generate enough to live on." At her disbelieving look, he scowled. "Come on, what was I supposed to do? Let them turn it into some big, tacky resort? That place has been in his family for the last two hundred years!"

Wendy said nothing. Her eyes flitted around the large, airy kitchen of their comfortable suburban home, to her husband. When was the last time she'd seen him this intense about something that didn't involve either her or his daughter, Maggie? It wasn't hard to tell that, although he _knew_ that his switch to nice, safe office work was a good idea, in the interest of keeping both his favourite gals out of danger, he had been bored out of his mind with it.

And really, could she honestly claim that she'd been enjoying her newfound career as an accountant much more? It was a job, nothing more. Truth be told, she sort of missed the sensation of being passionate about her job, looking forward to coming to work instead of going solely for the paycheck.

If Drake felt that farming would provide him with that, could she really bring herself to refuse to go along with it, just for the sake of a job she barely even _liked_, and a lot of trappings that were nowhere near as important as his happiness?

"All right," she sighed in defeat. "Where do we sign?"

* * *

And thus had the next few weeks become a whirlwind of telephone conferences with the real estate agent, telephone conferences with the mayor of the neighbouring village of Mineral Town, Colorado, and hasty resignations from their respective jobs.

There had also been the occasional excited squealing from Drake's daughter, Maggie, over the prospect of spending her Dad-weekends looking after cute little baby sheep and cows, as well as a particularly long shouting-match between Drake and his ex-wife, the latter wondering if the former had completely lost his mind, and the former responding that it was none of her goddamn business if he had.

More than once, Wendy had felt the sneaking suspicion that Carol was quite right, and that if her pretty little head had contained anything remotely resembling a functioning brain, she would have been doing something to stop this. Perhaps reminding her adored husband that between the two of them, they knew approximately as much of farming as Maggie knew of snake charming. Which was slightly less than nothing.

Or perhaps suggesting that there was a _reason_ that the town was so anxious to get the property sold off so quickly, at such a ridiculously low price.

Nevertheless, a decade spent as a charismatic madman's personal assistant had given her ample experience at ignoring her sneaking suspicions, just as they had at ignoring her loudly screaming suspicions.

She _had _voiced her unease regarding the tiny farmhouse that the online advertisement described proudly as a _cozy character home_, but Drake had just chuckled and said that they'd probably end up tearing the house down and rebuilding anyway, so it didn't matter what it looked like. Wendy had asked pettishly exactly who he imagined was going to _do_ all this rebuilding, and he had reminded her, mildly offended, that he was pretty good with his hands, and added with a grin that she ought to know this after all this time. She had sighed gustily, and pointed out that carpentry was rather a different trade from pottery, and building a house was _not_ going to be quite so easy as making a jar.

In response, Drake's grin had widened as he had confessed that he hadn't been talking about the pottery. It had been a moment before what he _had_ meant had occurred completely to Wendy, who had a strong tendency to become rather obtuse when under a great deal of stress, but when his meaning had finally meandered its way to her brain, she had giggled demurely and pointed out that Married Fun wasn't likely to get the job done either, although she was more than willing to give it her best try.

This had led to a joyous evening of...house building, and Wendy had thought no more on the possible translations of _cozy character home_.

Therefore, when March 1st, 2008 rolled around, it saw Mr. and Mrs. Anderson standing before their brand new farm, surveying the vast field in mild horror.

* * *

"Wow...been a while since this place has seen any love, hasn't it?" Drake commented lamely, trying to ignore the waves of panicked anger rising from his little blonde wife.

"Yes, the previous owner passed away some time ago, I'm afraid," the mayor, a very short, slightly stout, nearly spherical little fellow in a garish red suit and tall red hat, agreed sadly.

"This isn't exactly how it looked in the photo," Wendy pointed out, glaring sharply at each man in turn.

"I--it's an old photo," Thomas admitted, tugging nervously at his collar.

The little blonde's glare sharpened further, until Drake felt strangely compelled to step away, lest he meet his end impaled on the same big, pretty blue eyes that had ensnared his heart.

"I believe there's another name for it. Does _gross misrepresentation_ ring any bells?"

"Whoa, calm down, Kitten," Drake entreated. "There's another old saying: you get what you pay for."

"Excuse me?!" Thomas exclaimed, mustache bristling indignantly. "This is a very good, very fertile piece of land, and an excellent value, particularly with the house thrown in! Yes, it's been a little bit neglected in recent years--"

"_Years_, he says!" Wendy laughed disbelievingly. "I think the word you're groping for is _decades_."

"--but with some hard work and care, I'm certain that the two of you will be able to return it to its former glory!"

"Okay, okay, we'll see what we can do with it," Drake sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand and waving off Wendy's horrified protest with the other. "Just stop posing at us."

"Sorry," Thomas grinned sheepishly, the swirls of rainbow-coloured sparkles vanishing abruptly. "Now, let me show you through the buildings."

"Honey, wait a minute," Wendy murmured, tugging urgently at Drake's sleeve.

"Let's give it a chance, okay?" he entreated quietly, covering her hand with his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Wendy gritted her teeth against the swift crumbling of her resolve. Damn him, why did he have to be so bloody irresistible? How was any woman with a _pulse_ supposed to look directly into those puppy-dog eyes and say no to _anything_?

"I'm not promising anything until we've seen the house for ourselves," she finally warned, but despite her words, her tone held more than a trace of defeat. "There's still time to call the movers and give them a new address, and if the house is as rundown as the farm, that's exactly what I'll be doing."

"That's fair," Drake agreed, dropping a kiss at the top of her head and following Thomas across the yard toward the smallish farmhouse.

She sighed happily, basking for a brief moment in the glow of her husband's unusually impulsive display of relatively public affection, then trotted after the two men.

Then, as her eyes lit for the first time on her new home, she came to a dead halt.

"My God, we're living in a giant muffin," she groaned. "If the barn is a great big layer cake, I _am_ going home."

* * *

"Are you still here?"

The two young ladies at the Mineral Clinic reception desk jumped, torn from their in-depth discussion of the least dangerous way to ambush Rick with a pair of scissors by this annoyed huff from the gap in the heavy blue canvas curtain.

"Doctor, be nice," Elli chided the tall, dark-haired man as she rose from her chair and picked up a haphazardly prepared basket of what appeared to be lumps of vaguely hamburger-shaped charcoal between stale sandwich rolls. "Karen brought you lunch!"

"Actually, El, I brought that for you," Karen called from her perch, conveniently on top of Elli's daily tasks list, as the brunette held the basket out to her boss proudly.

Tim swatted it impatiently away and regarded his nurse sternly.

"You two have been at it for almost an hour. You know I don't mind you taking a break every now and again to chat with the patients, but we've got a lot of work to do. So fill Jeff's prescription, set up a coffee date, and ask your friend to go home."

"Ask me yourself, you jerk," Karen muttered, glowering after his swiftly retreating back.

Elli shrugged apologetically, muffling a giggle in her sleeve as she hurried over to the row of shelves behind her desk.

"He's been stressed lately," she informed Karen in a whisper, withdrawing a large bottle and counting out three dozen tablets into the smaller bottle bearing Jeff's name and information. "His father is retiring at the end of the season, so they're coming to Mineral Town this summer, after their Greek Island cruise."

"Great," Karen huffed. "So he's a stressed out jerk. That's _much_ better."

"He's not a _jerk_, Karen!" Elli insisted, nearly forgetting to whisper in her distress over this bit of misunderstanding. "And anyway, you want to talk about jerks, who's the one dating Mr. Threw-Out-His-Favourite-Blue-Sweater-After-Kai-Told-Him-That-He-Looks-Good-In-Blue?"

"Yeah," Karen agreed with a fond, slightly dopey grin. "He's a jerk, all right."

Elli shook her head.

"You two are so weird."

"Yup, we sure are. Now, get back to work before your boss grows devil horns and starts breathing fire."

Thus saying, Karen departed quickly, cackling as Elli's outraged yelp drifted out the door after her.

Then, on the wide, low concrete front stoop of the Clinic, she stopped, then frowned, and then sagged forward in dismay.

"I forgot Dad's medicine..."

She had just turned and prepared to reach for the doorknob again, when a loudly bellowed "EXCUSE ME!" sent her leaping out of the way like a kitten situated next to a cell phone.

"What?! What the hell?!" she demanded of no one in particular, glancing wildly about.

"Oh, hello, Karen," Thomas greeted breathlessly, hurrying up to the door and fumbling briefly with the knob. As a tall, broad fair-haired man in a tan leather jacket barrelled through the door, a rather woozy young blonde woman cradled gently in his arms, the town's mayor peered strangely at the ground at Karen's feet. "What are you doing in Elli's flowerbeds?"

As Thomas, too, disappeared through the opened door, Karen looked down at her feet, and groaned at the sight of rows of neatly transplanted Toyflowers crushed mercilessly beneath the thick soles of her hiking boots.

"Oh, yeah, she's going to kill me."

* * *

Elli gave a startled shriek as the Clinic door banged open. Hurriedly dropping a napkin into the garbage can to cover the rock-hard burgers she had just finished disposing of, she whirled about, a stern expression already in place.

"I wondered how long it would take you to remember Jeff's--" She broke off abruptly at the strange parade stampeding towards her. Led by the mayor and with Karen bringing up a very confused rear, the strangest component by far was the middle.

Not that either of them was particularly funny-looking; in fact, they made quite a good-looking young couple, although presumably even more so when the big, muscular blond man's feature's weren't tight with concern and the tight with pain.

"Oh dear! What happened?" she demanded, already hurrying toward the strange man and giving the blonde's pulse a quick check.

"Elli, this is Mr. and Mrs. Anderson," Thomas explained hurriedly. "They've just moved into the farmhouse south of the town, and I'm afraid there's been a bit of an accident."

"I fell through the floor," Mrs. Anderson giggled unsteadily, nuzzling against her husband's shoulder, and then shooting him a look of pure, school-teacherish sternness. "Honestly, Drake, I don't think that place is safe."

"Her ankle might just be sprained, but we're pretty sure the wrist is broken," Mr. Anderson informed the little nurse, keeping effortlessly on her heels as she scurried into the partition that formed the doctor's office.

"All right; so, she injured her ankle on a rotted floorboard, and her wrist trying to catch herself?" Elli confirmed over her shoulder, before looking expectantly to the doctor, already rising from his seat and watching the procession in bewilderment, for permission to direct their new patient to the cot.

She stopped, startled, as something suspiciously like a _chuckle_ escaped Mr. Anderson.

"Actually, she tripped over her foot, and put her hand through the floor when she fell."

For the first time, Elli noted the sharp fragments of wood poking from the poor girl's left hand, the wrist at an odd angle, and winced.

"Right. Doctor, should I get her something for the pain?"

"Yes, thank-you, Elli," the doctor replied, moving swiftly to gather the necessaries. "And after that, ask..." He hesitated. "Mr. Anderson?"

The broad-shouldered fellow nodded. Tim continued.

"Ask Mr. Anderson to fill out our new patient form."

"We'll need to know if she has any drug allergies before we can give her anything stronger than Tylenol," Elli explained quickly as Mr. Anderson's expression registered annoyed disbelief.

"Oh. Right," he agreed lamely, clutching his wife's good hand tightly.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the curtain, Karen was nearly dancing in curiosity. After all, the life of a small-town slacker was a dull sort of life, and it was rare enough that _locals_ did stupid things and got themselves injured, let alone complete strangers popping out of the blue to do so.

Well, outside of tourist season, at any rate.

Therefore, when Elli hurried back out of the doctor's office, Karen wasted no time in pouncing.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded in an excited whisper, clutching Elli's arm.

"Karen, hush," Thomas scolded. "Let Elli work."

The brunette gave Karen an apologetic look.

"I left your father's medicine on my desk. And don't worry," she added in a hush. "I'll tell you everything later."

Somewhat mollified by this, Karen took the bottle on Elli's desk and departed.

"Thomas, you can go too," Elli called from the shelves. "The doctor and I can take care of this."

The behatted little fellow, who had been edging closer to the curtain ever since a particularly pained yelp issued therefrom, stopped short and looked up guiltily.

"Oh, but--"

"Go," Elli ordered sternly, affixing him with the expression generally reserved for Stu when he was being a particular handful.

"Yes, Ma'am," Thomas agreed meekly, scurrying for the door.

Elli rolled her eyes.

"Men." Then, after a moment, "Well, and Karen."

* * *


End file.
